Xenografts: Opal Orange
by Izaranna
Summary: 'And so the year begins with him socking a house elf in the nose and earning brownie points with his pet owl. Also, apparently, sinister things are afoot this year. Maybe he'll be involved this time.' Mildly genderbent cast, but Harry's still a guy. Second year AU [Sequel to Xenografts: Ruby Red]
1. House Elves

**'If I'm going nowhere  
** **I'll get there on time.  
** **If I never settle down  
I'll be just fine.'**

 **\- If I'm Going Nowhere (Cody Bryan Band)**

* * *

Harry Fleamont Evans wasn't an ordinary boy, by any stretch of the imagination.

The Dursleys not only accepted this, but also went out of their way to pretend he didn't exist most of the time.

"Pass the bacon, please," said Harry at the dinner table. Dudley, his cousin with the piggish eyes and even piggier manners, passed him the bacon.

Aunt Petunia tutted in chagrin and Harry couldn't find it in himself to care.

"I'm going to the library," he said, taking his plate to the sink after the meal.

Uncle Vernon grunted.

Harry chose to ignore this lacklustre response and, taking his oversized coat, left the house.

* * *

On his way back home with a worn copy of _Eragon_ , Harry noticed a pair of green eyes following him. Instead of doing the sensible thing and thinking that it was a figment of his imagination, Harry assumed it had something to do with magic and immediately wrote to his three friends about it.

He said three, but there were, of course, four of them—Draco however, wasn't in the best position to receive his letters, nor to reciprocate them, so Harry didn't see the point in sending him one.

 _Dear Herman,_

 _There were green eyes in a begonia bush._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Harry_

He took out an envelope and stuck his letter in, licked it and sealed it, before whistling for Hedwig to come.

While he waited, he wrote to Nanelle.

 _Dear Nanelle,_

 _Is it normal for begonia bushes to sprout green bulbous eyes? Currently curious, because I saw them. Tell your grandpa Augustus that I like my spleen right where it is, thank you very much._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Harry_

To Ronnie, as per usual, he wrote something more substantial.

 _Hey Ronnie,_

 _I had bacon for breakfast. Picture me laughing in your face, you poor dieter you, because that's what I'm doing. On the plus side, your sister won't call you out on your non-existent blubber anymore. Insert sticking tongue out here. Much banter.  
Oh, get this, I saw a pair of green eyes in a begonia bush. Weirder than Ernie's mole, that I can tell you. They were bulbous and watery, and really big and they looked sort of frightened. Any ideas? I'm guessing magical creature, but that's about as far as I got. Waiting on Herman for the correct answer. Give a thanks to your mum for the homemade fudge—Dudley hasn't shut up about it yet. Driving me up the wall. Bored to death, to the point where I'm reading a book on muggle dragons. I'll tell you more about it when I come over, or I might keep you in suspense. Who knows really?_

 _Harry_

"Hedwig, remember your evasive manoeuvres," reminded Harry, stroking his snowy owl lovingly, much to her pleasure. "We don't want a repeat of last time."

For some bizarre reason, _someone_ had been trying to intercept his letters. Harry, to prevent such travesty, taught his pet owl military evasion tactics.

Tarquin mewled, stretched, and then scratched Harry's bedpost irritably.

"Hungry?" he asked, letting Hedwig out the window. "Let's get you something then."

The magical munchkin kitten preened. He'd trained his human well.

* * *

"The Masons are arriving today," said Uncle Vernon. "You'd better be on your best behaviour boy!"

Harry nodded, staring at the mantelpiece. Two more days till Ronnie and her dad came to pick him up. He could hold out till then.

"Not a peep out of you!" Uncle Vernon warned again, face purple with the mere _thought_ of what the freak could do to his job prospects.

It was a wonder they didn't treat him worse than they did already—it must have had to do with the primary school investigation into the house when Harry made one too many quips about his own dwindling levels of sanity and his freakish talent and that his family was constantly pissed off at him.

No amount of reprimanding actually got the boy to shut up, really.

* * *

Harry went up to his room in preparation for the Masons to arrive, only to see that a…thing…had Hedwig hostage, along with his birthday presents. He could make out Nanelle's nervous scrawl on one of the letters before the thing flinched.

"You're not Tarquin," stated Harry, staring at the elfish, hunched creature with batty ears standing on his bed.

"Master Evans! Such an honour it is to meet your grace!" squeaked the creature, bulbous eyes wide with awe and tears.

"You have green eyes," said Harry conversationally, picking Tarquin up and stroking the magical munchkin kitten.

The thing nodded, flappy bat ears slapping the sides of its head.

"What are you?"

"A house elf sir."

"A house elf _sir_. Is that short for something?"

"…what?"

"Sir, is it short for something?"

The thing's eyes welled up. "Dobby has _never_ been called sir before, even by his own kind. Master Evans is kinder than the rumours say."

Harry reasoned that 'sir' was a special house elf compliment, and resolved to use it when addressing them henceforth.

"Your name is Dobby?"

"Yes Master Evans."

"Well Dobby, if you could unhand my owl, I would be most grateful."

Dobby did so sheepishly.

"Are you all right girl?" he asked Hedwig.

Hedwig hooted indignantly (but softly—she was mindful of the Masons downstairs), glaring at her owner's guest.

Harry rounded on Dobby. "Now Dobby, _why_ did you think it was a good idea to manhandle my favourite owl in the whole universe? I give you thirty seconds to give me a very good explanation."

Dobby looked near tears but gulped and hurriedly said, "Master Evans mustn't go back to Hogwarts. Dangerous things are afoot, sinister and dark. Dobby had to stop his birdy so that she wouldn't—"

"Hand me my birthday cards?" he asked, thoroughly put out. "You do realise these are the first ones I've ever gotten, right? In my life? Ever? Like, _ever?_ And you wanted me not to receive them to, what? Feel neglected? Worse than I already feel about being treated like an outsider in my own home? Feel worthless? Assure myself that I don't really have any friends?"

Dobby blinked repentantly. "It's for Master Evans' own good."

Harry was not amused. "You hurt my owl and you hurt my heart, just to tell me that I mustn't go to school."

Dobby nodded, grateful that Harry was getting it. "Yes your grace!"

Harry scowled. "You know Dobby, I'm starting to think you don't know what protecting someone means."

Dobby looked confused. "Sir?"

Harry had his work cut out for him.

* * *

 _Dear Herman,_

 _I met a house elf today. He told me not to go to Hogwarts because something untellable will be happening this year that may or may not end in the death of us all. Thank you for the birthday card and the complete works of Brom the Bard! Who knew having visions about a different world was an actual magical disease?  
Still coming to the Weasley's this week? Nanelle's RSVP-ed, Draco's, as has been the case all summer, AWOL, and my relatives haven't been told yet._

 _See you there!  
Harry_

* * *

 _Dear Nanelle,_

 _What am I supposed to do with these magic beans? Also, a house elf told me not to go to Hogwarts because sinister things are afoot. Is there a wizarding custom for second year potentials that I don't know about? If yes, whoops. If no, then the punch I delivered to his nose for hurting Hedwig is totally legit. On a completely unrelated note, I've ascended to godhood._

 _See you at Ronnie's!  
Harry_

* * *

 _Hey Ronnie,_

 _There was a house elf that came into my room, threatened to steal my birthday cards because he couldn't steal the rest of my mail—Hedwig's a bird among birds, I tell you. I'm glad we went over those aerial evasive manoeuvres. Pat me on the back when I see you next—and then told me Hogwarts was a bad idea for this year. He said sinister things are afoot.  
Does that or does that not sound like a totally boss adventure to you?  
In other news, thanks for the bright orange t-shirt with the 'no hoes for this mofo' on it. Best gift I got by far! Of course, Lupin's Nimbus 2000 can't be beaten, but it's in a category all of its own. Won't do you a disservice by comparing them._

 _See you tomorrow!  
Harry_

 _PS Thank Mrs Weasley bunches for the triple-layered treacle tart surprise! I'm in love with the woman already._

* * *

 _Dear Professor Awesome,_

 _Your birthday card sang to me_ and _complimented my hair. How are you so cool? Teach your willing minion ma'am! I LOVE the broom. I started crying the minute the parcel came through my window, and it was only 10% because it hit me in the eye. I love you Professor!_

 _Thy Eternal Mortal Servant,  
Harry_

* * *

 _Dear Hagrid,_

 _I'm glad you thought of me today. It also makes me terribly annoyed with myself that I don't know when_ your _birthday is. I loved the bottle of treacle! And Tarquin hasn't stopped playing with his ball of magical yarn—I didn't even know the wizarding world had that sort of thing! Hedwig nips your fingers in thanks for the leather armband—she's been worried that her talons might do me permanent damage for a while now._

 _Thanks a million!  
Harry_

* * *

 **So, second year begins! Let's see how Harry and co do this year! Review please? Also, do you want a Marauder side-fic? I've got chapter one done for that...**


	2. The Burrow

**'I've cast in every favour**  
 **I'm down to my last dime**  
 **I'm not looking for a saviour**  
 **To change my life.'**

 **\- If I'm Going Nowhere (Cody Bryan Band)**

* * *

It was the day Ronnie and her dad were supposed to pick him up, two days since he'd punched a house elf in the nose and gotten him to join his fan club, one day since he'd made himself sick trying to eat the entire triple-layered treacle tart surprise in one sitting, six hours since Aunt Petunia told him to clean up the mess in his room, and two hours since he'd told Uncle Vernon he was leaving today.

He was rereading his birthday letters with a grin on his face, and the longing to be with his eclectic group of friends was even more potent.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _What is_ wrong _with you!? You can't just neglect telling your guardians where you're going! Honestly, you must drive them up the wall!  
A house elf? I've read about those. They're usually tied to the old families…I wonder who he belonged to. Do you think this might have something to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Did he have a house elf? Presumably, he must have been from an old pureblood family…oh, I can't wait to get to the Hogwarts library! Blast you and your inability to let my curiosity rest!  
See you at Ronnie's house! I wonder what it'll be like. I'm ever so excited; she's from a magical family, and I've read up quite a bit on wizarding architecture. Oh, I hope I don't come off as ignorant in front of her parents!_

 _Herman_

And of course, then there was Nanelle's letter of self-deprecation.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _The beans are alihotsy seeds, and I thought you might like them. If they're grown right, the leaves of the tree can cause uncontrollable laughter. It reminded me of you, and how you always know how to make me laugh. Of course, it can also cause hysteria, and it was used in medieval torture…  
You can't really have liked them if you didn't know what they were…I'm so sorry! It's just, this is the first time I've had to give presents to anyone I wasn't related to, and I panicked! I forgot you mustn't have a herbologist handy, since you live with muggles. I'll try harder next year!  
I'll be a day late in coming to Ronnie's. My gran's already informed Mr and Mrs Weasley. I have a bit of a toothache, so we have to go to St Mungo's for a spell. I'll see you on Tuesday!_

 _Sincerely,  
Nanelle_

Harry wasn't aware that a minor toothache was a St Mungo's problem, but who was he to say that? His favourite though, was Ronnie's letter.

 _Hey Harry,_

 _If we die next year, I blame you. Ta._

 _Ronnie_

That letter right there was the reason they were best friends.

He then heard a clanking in the electric fire, and a moment before it happened, he realised what was coming.

 _BOOM!_

"What the devil is going on in there boy!" Uncle Vernon yelled from outside, where he'd been pretending to inspect the begonias in a vague attempt to spy on the wizards when they got there.

Aunt Petunia was off to her neighbour's house, unwilling to even be under the same _roof_ as those unnatural freaks. Dudley was with her, much to his displeasure.

From behind the fireplace came cracking noises and then muffled voices.

"Wha's this?"

"It seems to be some sort of—"

"Shove _over_ Fred!"

"You shove over Ronnie, your elbow's in my—"

"Is that your _eyeball_ —"

"Dad, what's—"

Harry collapsed in a heap, laughter threatening to erupt out of him like Mt Vesuvius. Uncle Vernon came thundering into the house just as the older sounding man said, "Right, stay clear everybody, I'm going to blast this barrier out of the way!"

Harry backed up, and Uncle Vernon yelled, "Now just what do you think you're doing!? That's my fireplace!"

"Why have you blocked it sir?" asked the unnaturally polite tone of Fred's voice.

Uncle Vernon thundered, "I haven't blocked it! It's an electric fireplace!"

"Oh, does it have a plug? How fascinating!" exclaimed the voice Harry was almost 98.9% was Mr Weasley's.

Uncle Vernon glanced at Harry, and seemed to come to the conclusion that everyone associated with magic was off their rocker.

Harry decided to speak up. "Why don't you simply vanish it Mr Weasley?"

Ronnie mumbled, "Sure, sound sane _now_."

"Why ever didn't I think of that myself? Right, give us a minute—I've forgotten the spell."

" _Evanesco_ dad. Could you hurry it up a bit; I'm losing feeling in my lungs."

"Ugh George, I think that _is_ your eyeball!"

In a trice, the electric fireplace had been vanished, and out tumbled Ronnie, her twin brothers, and a man with equally bright, if a bit thinning, red hair, lopsided glasses affixed on the bridge of his rather long nose (so _that's_ where Ronnie got her nose from) and a genial smile.

Uncle Vernon rounded on Harry. "Where'd my fireplace go boy!"

Harry was glad to be unhelpful. "To the place where vanished things go."

"Don't worry Mr Dursley," Mr Weasley reassured him. "The minute they all go through, I'll bring it back."

"Like a boomerang," Harry concurred sagely.

"Harry m'boy!" Fred exclaimed.

"Absolutely astounding," said George.

"Simply spiffing," added Fred, shaking Harry's left hand.

"Stupendously splendid," continued George, shaking Harry's right hand.

"To see you again old chap!" they both chorused.

"Likewise," Harry answered. "You must be Mr Weasley."

Mr Weasley greeted Harry, and then said, "Wonderful house."

Uncle Vernon grunted in acknowledgement.

"Right, do you want to say goodbye to your uncle Harry?"

"Not particularly." Mr Weasley stood there unsurely.

Ronnie facepalmed. "You could have _pretended_ at least!"

Harry gave her a raised eyebrow. "Why should I conform?"

"Because you don't want to be locked up, innit?"

"I suspect it doesn't really matter, does it? We're all locked up in our created worlds, in the end."

Ronnie gave him a deadpanned look. "Stop philosophising. You know I don't care."

Harry concurred.

* * *

"This is The Burrow," Ronnie said, pointing at a lopsided, wonderful, amazing, homely abode on a hill that looked about two huffs and puffs of a wolf to blow it down.

Harry was in love.

"You live here?" Harry asked, then said, "Can I live here?"

Ronnie thought about this, before saying, "Probably. Mum already thinks you're one of hers. Dad's a bit on the fringe—thinks we're going to make babies or something. Wasn't paying all that much attention, to be fair."

Harry's heart warmed considerably.

* * *

"This is my room."

"It looks like someone vomited a pumpkin in here."

"I know, isn't it hella brilliant?"

Harry chose to keep his opinions to himself.

"Is that a goldfish tank?" he asked instead, looking away from the blown-up poster of Galvin Gudgeon, the most suckish seeker the world had ever seen.

Ronnie was oddly defensive about him.

"Yeah, used to have one, and then one of Charlie's old socks ate it." Ronnie still looked pained by this. "Happened when I was eight."

Harry hummed. "You don't have a very good track record with pets, do you?"

"Shove off!" Ronnie growled, flumping into her bed.

Harry took one last sweeping look at the low-ceilinged attic that was Ronnie's bedroom, took in the violent shades of orange that seared the eyeballs the longer you looked at it, and then asked, "So where am I sleeping?"

Ronnie sat up and said matter-of-factly, "Well, mum and I had a bit of a tiff on that. Says that I can't have boys in my room if I'm in it, and Ginny's not budging from _her_ room, so I had a bit of a strop, she had a bit of a strop, and dad kind of talked her into letting you stay here."

Harry felt oddly relieved. He'd prefer rooming with Ronnie anyway.

"Nanelle and Herman?"

"Nanelle's with Ginny," Ronnie shrugged. "Bet they'll get along too. Ginny's a good sort, even if she's as stubborn as Fred's ingrowing toenail most days. Herman—"

Ronnie started snickering unkindly, and Harry was about to ask when suddenly, Ronnie got off the bed and headed for the door. "He's here—saw him out the window."

Harry followed dutifully.

* * *

"You can't be serious!" Herman groaned, looking at Harry exasperatedly.

He hadn't been at The Burrow five minutes before Fred and George set off a dungbomb in the stairwell, and so the entire household had to be evacuated while Mrs Weasley, who Harry had thought was just like the chocolate fudge she made—gooey and sweet on the inside, a bit tough on the outside, and bad for ones health in large amounts—berated them in loud volumes.

Herman was deathly afraid of her already.

"This is Harry we're talking about," Ronnie reminded him, tucking her shoulder-length hair behind her ear. "Someone else's house elf _can_ be his eternally loyal servant."

Herman sputtered for a while, and Harry heard the occasional, "case never been recorded—could've sworn—why's he got to make everything _mental_ —trix are for kids—"

Harry didn't think he heard the last one correctly, but did it really matter?

"One hears what one wants to hear," he informed Tarquin sagely.

Tarquin sauntered past him without giving him a backward look.

"Fucking pretentious twat," Ronnie grumbled. It seemed that the Scabbers Sting™ was still present.

Harry chose not to comment.

* * *

"Breakfast is ready dears!" Mrs Weasley called, the mind-bending smells wafting from the kitchen making Harry's stomach do cartwheels.

Herman had just finished putting his things in Percy's room, where he was to be staying ("Oh that's wonderful! So much I wanted to discuss with him, and seeing as he _is_ a prefect—" "You're supposed to hate it you bloody tosser!" "Language Ronnie!" "Shove off Herman!"), and Harry had yet to meet everyone in the household, but at the mention of food, all decorum seemed to fly out the window.

"Right," Ronnie said, practically dragging Herman out of the room. "You can be anal about your stuff _after_ we've eaten."

"You _need_ to sort out your priorities," Herman informed her huffily.

Harry thought that the two of them would make a wonderful married couple.

* * *

"Mummy, have you seen my jumper?" asked a young girl's voice, and it was the first time Harry had ever heard someone like that.

Nanelle's voice was quiet, shy and all manners of submissive, and Ronnie, at the other end, sounded like a prepubescent boy, all gruff tones and husky yells.

This one was clear and feminine, without any of Nanelle's inherent submissiveness.

Harry was intrigued.

"This must be your sister," Harry said, drawing everyone's attention to him, including the ginger child that had spoken.

Her face went bright scarlet, and every bit of confidence she might have had fled.

Figures.

"Yeah, 'at's Ginny," Ronnie said around a mouth stuffed full of mashed potatoes. She swallowed. After a bit of contemplation, she added, "Think she has a crush on you actually."

A horrified silence engulfed the room, though Harry didn't see why. He said, relieved, "Oh, good. I thought I was the only one."

Fred snickered, Herman face-palmed and groaned, "Tactless…", and George dumped a dollop of salt on Ronnie's plate of perfectly seasoned food.

Ronnie glared at him. "Fuck off George."

Before Mrs Weasley could berate her (she looked about ready to, like a raging dragon), Herman snapped, "Language Ronnie!"

Ronnie turned her glare to him. "It was perfectly good food he just ruined cause he's a f—"

"Cutting your nose to spite your face—"

" _What does that even mean—"_

"If you _read_ more, maybe I wouldn't have to explain every last—"

"Why are we even _friends_ —"

They both abruptly cut off as they turned their heated glares at Harry. Ronnie declared, "I blame you."

Harry looked up from his porridge. "Why does anyone care how much wood the woodchuck chucked?"

Ginny ventured to answer when no one else did. "Because people have…too much time…on their…hands…" she said, her voice becoming more and more mumbly as the sentence went on.

Harry changed the subject, the answer still alluding him. "If you have a crush on me," he said casually, to the greater reddening of Ginny's face, "why did I not receive a birthday present from you?"

Ginny stared at him, horrified.

Harry happily went back to his food and reached for the salt, only to find that it was all gone. He then noticed that it was on Ronnie's plate.

"A bit greedy, weren't we?" he said.

Ronnie shoved him.

"No need to be so salty," Harry grinned.

"Fuck my life," Ronnie groaned.

" _Language!"_

* * *

 **I think I'm in love with Ronnie. Just saying. Extra long chapter, just to make up for the protracted delay! How was this chapter? Please review and let me know?**


	3. Gilderoy Lockhart

**"I could write another sad song  
Cause I've lived out every line;  
I'll be damned if I was ever wrong  
But I get by."**

 **\- If I'm going Nowhere (Cody Bryan Band)**

* * *

"Right, time to de-gnome the garden!" Mrs Weasley informed them the next day. "Fred, George, off you trot!"

"Why does Ronnie get to sit this one out?" Fred moaned.

"Because she needs to help me in the kitchen," said Mrs Weasley firmly. "Come along Ronnie!"

"Blimey mum," Ronnie groaned. "Can't I just de-gnome too?"

"Absolutely not. Ginny's well ahead of you in the recipes department and—"

"Why do _we_ always have to do the de-gnoming—"

"Can we help?" Harry asked, eyes eager to participate in this new activity. "I've never seen a de-gnoming before."

Mrs Weasley gave him a soft look. "That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject —"

She pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece and George groaned. "Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden—"

The title of the book was scrawled across it in fancy gold letters— _Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests_. There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes, who looked like he was having a seizure with the amount of winking he was doing.

"Oh, he is marvellous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book..."

"Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."

Ronnie was still grumbling, and Herman, in a bout of madness, said, "Mrs Weasley, may I help in the kitchen?"

Mrs Weasley looked so started she completely forgot about Gilderoy Lockhart. "Oh I couldn't—"

"Yeah!" Ronnie exclaimed. "Herman can help you in the kitchen and I can go de-gnome, show Harry the ropes and that—Herman's never seen a magical kitchen before either, innit?"

Suddenly, Herman seemed a lot less reluctant. "Please Mrs Weasley?"

It was very hard to turn down the offer, especially since Ronnie had an unfortunate habit of making _everything she touched_ inedible.

It was a gift.

* * *

"These are gnomes?" Harry asked, Tarquin perched on his shoulders.

"Yup," said Ronnie, hefting up a potato with a foul mouth. "You spin 'em around and chuck 'em over the fence."

Harry stuck a finger out to one of them, and it bit him hard. Harry continued staring at it.

"Bloody hell Harry! Get the thing off your finger!" Ronnie yelled, flinging a gnome over the fence.

"Shh, I'm winning."

Fred looked over to the two twelve year olds and said, "We've tried it—the gnomes are notorious for winning staring contests."

The gnome blinked.

Harry smirked in triumph.

Tarquin mewled.

Then, the entire horde of gnomes looked over at Harry and grudgingly bowed to him. Harry then said, "I like gnomes."

All the little potato-people cheered in excitement, rushing towards him to touch their new master.

Ronnie gaped.

* * *

"Technically speaking, we de-gnomed the garden," Ronnie informed her mother.

"Yeah," added Fred. "They're technically not in the garden anymore."

Mrs Weasley wondered what she'd gotten herself into as she stared in abject horror at her sitting room, where Harry was at the epicentre of around six dozen gnomes, reading them one of Ronnie's _Martin Miggs_ comics.

Herman facepalmed.

* * *

"And remember Nanelle," said a stern man with a fierce scowl, too tall and bony to be pleasant. "Under no circumstances are you to embarrass the Longbottom name."

"Yes granddad," Nanelle, her blonde hair in a low ponytail and her eyes downcast, said.

Her granddad nodded, his vulture-feather festooned cloak looking entirely out of place with The Burrow in the backdrop.

"Come along then, let's take your things to—Merlin, that looks like a healthy and safety nightmare!" Augustus Longbottom exclaimed.

Nanelle agreed, if silently.

* * *

"And this is where you'll be staying," Ronnie said through a mouth full of apple. "Ginny's room."

Nanelle stared at the pleasant, welcoming, distinctly feminine room and felt all of a sudden relaxed. "Thank you Ronnie."

Ronnie shrugged. "Lunch'll be ready in a bit. Reckon you can unpack a smidge before you're called down. Ginny should be up soon—she's on kitchen duty today, thank Merlin. Do you need any help?"

Nanelle didn't usually talk a lot with Ronnie. Of their group of five, Nanelle was fairly certain that, though they were the only two girls, they spent the least amount of time with each other.

She knew Harry remarkably well considering they were in different houses, Herman and she spent a lot of time in their common room going over unintelligible homework, and many a times, she and Draco had worked on the practical aspects of their lessons in unused classrooms. But Ronnie and Nanelle didn't really have all that much in common.

"If you could tell me where not to put my things, and where to put my toothbrush, and—" Nanelle began, gaining speed the faster she remembered things she didn't know—she had a fairly good memory for self-esteem-lowering things.

"Right, slow down," Ronnie said, an uncomfortable look on her face. "Here, I'll show you where the bathroom is, and you can take your toiletries up there now. And if you steer clear of the cupboard, I think you should be fine—Ginny's not too fussed about—"

And as Ronnie rattled off the answers to questions Nanelle didn't even think to ask, she thought that maybe it didn't actually matter that they had nothing in common.

* * *

It was early the next day when a parliament of owls landed on the Weasley kitchen windowsill, almost in perfect aerial formation, and Harry noticed Mrs Weasley swallow a grimace out of the corner of his eye.

He wondered what that was about as Herman handed him his letter, but by the time he'd taken out his book list, he didn't have a mind to pay attention to absolutely anything else.

"The fuck's gadding?" Ronnie mumbled, reading the third book on the list with barely concealed distaste.

"It's an informal word that is synonymous with gallivanting," Herman explained immediately, without looking up from his list.

Ronnie looked at him in distaste. "The fuck's synonymous?"

Harry, on the other hand, had issues with the author. "Gilderoy Lockhart…seems to have written quite a few books."

He'd read _Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests_ and he had to say that he was thoroughly unimpressed. When he'd asked his gnome slaves about the details, they'd informed him that whoever wrote it clearly had no idea what he was on about, with all sorts of other demeaning adjectives to highlight their point.

And now, to find that he had to buy not one, not two, but _seven_ of his shoddy works?

There was a grim silence on the Weasley table. "That lot won't come cheap," said George, with a quick look at his parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive…"

"Well, we'll manage," said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. "I expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things secondhand."

"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?" Harry asked Ginny.

She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish. She looked so mortified by this that Harry felt it was his civic duty to console her. "Don't worry, I have that effect on people. Why, just last week, I got a House Elf to pledge his eternal loyalty to me by punching him in the nose."

At the sheer ludicrousness of his statement, Ginny giggled.

"Maybe I should become a nurse," Harry mused. "I'm surprisingly good at this comforting thing."

Mrs Weasley was still quietly fussing about the book expenses, and Herman and Nanelle were looking more and more awkward as time went on.

Harry, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice.

"Are you going to get a pet?" he asked Ginny conversationally.

Ronnie went horribly puce and kept mum, while Ginny looked at her parents awkwardly, and not just because it was Harry talking to her.

Mrs Weasley looked unaccountably ashamed, and said gently, "Maybe next year dear, if you want one. This year will be a bit tight."

Ginny nodded hurriedly. "I don't really want a pet, honestly mum!"

"Tight on what?" Harry asked in confusion.

Herman, appalled that he could ask such a question, hissed, "On money, obviously. Stop being so insensitive!"

Ronnie cleared her throat. "Anyone fancy a game of Quidditch?"

But Harry frowned, for once not all that eager. "Well, then just don't buy the Lockhart books. Or buy a single set and share. I hardly think whoever's teaching is going to teach all the years the same book at the same time. Besides, I'm not even going to bother—I managed fine last year without even paying attention in class. You can have my set—I don't want to help this halfwit's sales, so I wasn't going to buy them in protest."

Ronnie purpled further. "You can't just _not_ buy the books on the list Harry—you could get detentions!"

Harry shrugged. "Whoever teaches out of those books is hardly going to be better than the stuttering mess we had last year. I'll live."

Everyone in the room, now getting used to Harry's ways, shared looks of mutual suffering.

That didn't, of course, stop them from buying a single set of the books and saving a whole sack of galleons.

Harry was crazy, not stupid.

* * *

 _Dear Professor Lupin,_

 _Who on earth is our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? I have_ words _that need to be yelled._

 _Harry_

* * *

 _Dear Harry,_

 _To my understanding, it's world-renowned author Gilderoy Lockhart. I have it on good authority that he'll be at Flourish and Blotts next Wednesday for his autobiography's book signing. The Daily Prophet should be there as well. Make it as public as possible, and you might want to mention something that tugs at people's heartstrings. Just a thought._

 _Remula Lupin_

 _PS I hear the Malfoys may be making their trip then as well._

* * *

Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday.

After a quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside.

"We're running low, Arthur," she sighed. "We'll have to buy some more today…Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!"

She offered him the flowerpot and Harry stared at it uncomprehendingly. "Lovely dirt?"

"He's never travelled by Floo powder," said Ronnie suddenly. "Sorry, Harry, I forgot."

"Never?" said Mr. Weasley. "But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?"

"Side-Along Apparition," said Harry, quite pleased that he remembered what it was called.

"Floo powder's a lot quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it before—" fussed Mrs Weasley.

"He'll be all right, Mum," said Fred. "Harry, watch us first." He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.

And that's what Harry did.

He fucking succeeded. Even staked a ten on ten landing.

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart looked even stupider in real life, Harry confirmed mentally. A glittering-toothed ponce of epic proportions, with a side helping of self-entitled bullshit.

"He even has his own personal photographer, or something equally as twatty," Ronnie grumbled.

"Out of the way, there," the photographer snarled at Ronnie, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the Daily Prophet—"

"Big fucking deal," said Ronnie, rubbing her foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

Gilderoy Lockhart heard him and looked up, spotting Harry.

He leapt up dramatically and pointed, rather rudely in Harry's opinion, at his face and shouted, "It can't be Harry Evans?"

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry's arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause.

Harry wrenched his arm out of Lockhart's grasp and glared at him. "Excuse me, I don't want to be infected by stupidity, and you seem to be patient zero."

He seemed not to have understood. "Together you and I are worth the front page!"

Harry scowled. He said in a clear, carrying voice, "I don't like you Mr Lockhart, and I don't like how you're manhandling a twelve year old against his will. That's like rape Mr Lockhart!"

The entire bookshop went deathly silent, and even Gilderoy Lockhart's smile lost its brightness. "I—"

"Now that I have your _attention_ ," Harry said equitably, "I would like to talk about the disgusting lies you write in your books and sell it as fact. In fact, let's talk about _lies_ in general Mr Lockhart—I hate liars. I skim read _one_ and I think it'd be better in the fiction section! I especially hate that you've forced more than twelve hundred students of varying financial backgrounds to purchase _seven_ of your books. And you didn't even lower the prices! People will go _hungry because of you and your cheap self-promotion!_ Do you not _care_ about people!?"

Harry didn't get riled up very often.

But he was the reason Ginny wouldn't get a pet.

Besides, Gilderoy Lockhart's smug face rubbed him _all_ the wrong ways.

Plus, he'd made someone step on Ronnie's foot.

And he wouldn't let him forget it.

* * *

"You did _what_ to Gilderoy Lockhart?" Draco asked in horror.

"He dissed him in front of the Daily Prophet _and_ nearly fifty people." Ronnie was still repeating that phrase.

"He'll be on the front page alright," Draco muttered, still disbelieving of Harry's gall. _"How_ are you a Hufflepuff?"

"Redefining the house Draco," Harry said, licking his magical mystery mulch ice cream. "Redefining."

* * *

 ** _Reviews make me write. Please review? Also, lots of vitriol against Lockhart. Can you taste the consequences? Harry's a lot more with the Prophet isn't he? Anyone find that distasteful? Or do you enjoy that he isn't a potato-head who lets people walk all over him? Because he takes more after the Potter line, and he's_ insane _, so he's less likely to care about societal niceties. Yay?_  
**


	4. Tommy's Diary

**If I leave this place  
** **I'm leaving with my pride.  
** **If I'm going nowhere  
** **I'll get there on time.**

 **If I'm Going Nowhere (Code Bryan Band)**

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart had an excellent PR, or he would've been boycotted by Wizarding Britain.

Meanwhile, Harry was watching Ronnie and Herman discuss the merits of tube socks. Nanelle was too busy catching up on Snape's homework on Ronnie's bedside table to contribute to the shenanigans.

"You only wear socks thigh-high if you want to wear underwear to cover your privates," Ronnie snorted derisively.

Herman shook his head. "Not always, though I see your point. It's the _knee-_ length ones I'm not entirely sold on."

"I like them best," Ronnie shrugged, "don't like showing off my cigarette-stick legs in a skirt."

"Don't be ridiculous Ronnie," Herman snapped impatiently, "your legs are perfectly normal."

Harry patted Tarquin's head. "Solid compliment there, Herman. Wooing going nicely. Much respect for that suaveness."

Herman and Ronnie blushed more than fifty shades of red and sputtered denials, much to Harry's amusement.

"Harry?" asked Ginny from behind the door, the orange of Ronnie's room clashing terribly with her red face. "I-I got you your…"

Words seemed to have deserted her, because while her lips were moving, the sound was as non-existent as Draco's humility. So she shoved a carefully wrapped gift in Harry's hands and bid a hasty retreat, stubbing her toe on Ronnie's bed on the way out.

Harry stared at it, bemused. "I didn't _actually_ mean for her to feel that bad about it."

Ronnie stared after her little sister. "It's so _weird_ seeing her this timid…"

"What is it?" Nanelle asked curiously. "She wouldn't show it to me."

Harry unwrapped the present, and out came a non-descript ink-toned diary, gold lettering in the corner spelling out **Thomais Marvolo Riddle**.

* * *

"It's time to _go_ Harry!" Herman called impatiently.

 _I have to go now Tommy. Hogwarts awaits!_

 _Have fun. Write to me soon, if you get the chance. I'd dearly love to hear more about the Hogwarts Welcoming Feast._

Harry nodded at his book fondly. This talking-back diary was a brilliant birthday present, especially when he riled it enough for it to give a sarcastic response back. It took the 'books are your friends' saying to a whole other level.

* * *

"Percy first," said Mrs. Weasley, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they had only five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Percy strode briskly forward and vanished. Mr Weasley went next; Fred and George followed.

"I'll take Ginny and you four come right after us," Mrs Weasley told Harry and Ron, grabbing Ginny's hand and setting off. In the blink of an eye they were gone.

"Let's go together, we've only got a minute," Ronnie said hurriedly, and together, with Nanelle and Herman a pace behind them, all four children ran at the wall.

Only for it to actually _act_ like a wall.

 _CRASH!_

Hedwig hooted indignantly as Herman's trolley rammed right into Harry's liver, and Ronnie was squashed between her trunk and Nanelle's trolley wheel.

"Why isn't it letting us through?" Herman groaned, clutching his head.

"What in blazes d'you think you're doing?" yelled a nearby guard, watching the four pick themselves up.

"Do you need an ambulance?" asked a harried bystander, and Harry was about to say no, thank you, when he realised that Nanelle was bleeding from her head.

And it was a _lot_ of blood.

"Yes, please."

* * *

"How're we going to get to Hogwarts?" Herman hissed at length, after they'd been rushed to King's College Hospital A&E and Nanelle had had a quick patch-up job and a _lot_ of difficult questions asked, such as where her parents were and why they were at the train station unsupervised.

Ronnie had other concerns. "What in the bloody hell _is_ that?"

"An IV drip," Herman answered without missing a beat. "Harry, we have to get _out_ of here before Dr Ahmad comes back! We can't—I mean, if it was you or I that got hurt, since we're registered, it would've been fine, but Nanelle's got _no_ paperwork—"

"Sorry," she mumbled, feeling a bit light-headed and terribly sorry for getting hurt.

Ronnie had other conundrums to solve, like, "What's _this?_ Fucking beeping so loud my ears're going to burst. And what're the squiggly lines?"

" _Focus!"_ Herman hissed. And then, because he can't leave a question unanswered, snipped, "A heart monitor."

"Is there a charm to confuse people into not asking difficult questions?" asked Harry.

Herman's eyes scrunched up. "Not that I've read, but I've only gotten to fifth year material…oh, I _knew_ I shouldn't have slacked off!"

Considering Herman had studied five hours each day at _Ronnie's_ house, with more than eight people and a ghoul hollering around to distract him, Harry can be forgiven his incredulousness at that statement.

He took out his diary, and Herman sputtered, _"This isn't the time to update your diary—!"_

 _Hey Tommy, do you know any spell to make the doctor go away without raising suspicions?_

 _Four. You could use the Imperius Curse, my personal favourite, which controls people into doing whatever you want, the Obliviation Spell, which erases someone's memory, the Stunning Spell, though you may get caught and break the Statute of Secrecy, or the Confundus Charm, which confuses people, as you might suspect from the name._

"Imperius?" asked Harry.

"Illegal," replied Ronnie, not even bothering to ask, so focused was she on the strange white contraption on the side table. "The fuck's that?"

"Latex gloves," Herman answered.

"Obliviation?"

Nanelle squirmed. "I…I don't like that idea."

"Stunner's a no-go…right," Harry decided, writing down, _How do you cast the Confunding Charm?_

Tommy the Diary replied with full aplomb, almost as though answering an exam question (though that was ludicrous, thought Harry, because she's a _diary_ , and diaries don't go to Hogwarts), and after showing it to Herman, they both set about practising it in the four minutes it took for the harried doctor to return with the paperwork.

"Right, I think I've got it…" Herman said nervously, Ronnie still scrunching her forehead and pointing at every odd thing with a, "the fuck's _that?"_

Harry was glad, because he didn't think his Confundus would do anything but bring disaster.

Dr Ahmad entered the room, opening a file with a kind smile. "Now, Miss Longbottom, if you could—"

" _Confundus!"_

* * *

It was lucky Nanelle was Dr Ahmad's last patient, because there would have been _problems_ —Herman was a bit too enthusiastic, and a seemingly-drunk doctor on the job was not a good idea.

"Right, so what could have blocked the barrier?" Ronnie asked, finally away from all that interesting junk in the muggle hospital.

Herman bit his lip in thought, though he was feeling angry that it wasn't until Ronnie said it that _everyone_ paid attention. He'd been trying for half an hour and no one had bothered!

"Maybe they closed the barrier early?" he suggested. Ronnie shot that down with a derisive look.

"It would t-take powerful magic to manage that," Nanelle said, sitting on the park bench. "A-And that means an adult."

"But why would an adult not want us to go to Hogwarts?" asked Harry rhetorically. "I mean, the only _anyones_ that've thought to bar my educational aspirations are Snape, who wouldn't put _that_ much effort into this, the Dursleys, who can't do magic, or Do—"

"Why does this have to be about you?" Herman asked waspishly.

"Because he's Harry," Ronnie groaned. "Of _course_ it's got to do with him; the rest of us aren't nearly important enough."

Nanelle nodded, and Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable about that.

"Dobby!" yelled Harry quite suddenly, startling Hedwig and making Tarquin hiss in anger.

"What in the bloody hell—" began Ronnie, only to widen her eyes in realisation. "Of course!"

Herman turned to Nanelle. "House Elves can't do magic of that level, surely!"

Nanelle, whose light-headedness was fading, replied, "I've heard they've got really powerful magic, but they don't use it much."

"Dobby!" Harry yelled once more.

"Okay, we get it," Herman snapped, the stress getting to him even worse than when they were at the hospital. "You can stop yelling."

Ronnie explained, "He's calling it, not telling us about it."

With a sudden crack, Dobby the House Elf appeared in the park, bowing and saying nervously, "Master Evans called Dobby?"

Harry stared at the creature's burnt fingers. "First off, heal yourself. Secondly, why did you mess with the barrier?"

Dobby became teary-eyed with admiration and awe as he realised that Master Evans had cared about his pain first, then demanded answers from him in such a _nice_ way…

"Master Evans must not go back to school," Dobby tried again, but he quailed under Harry's disinterested stare.

Herman gaped. "If House Elves have _that_ kind of magic…" The gears in his head started turning. This would, by the way, not bode well for the Wizarding World.

"Dobby," Harry said. "What have we discussed about hurting people to protect me?"

"Not to do it, sir," Dobby answered promptly.

Harry pointed at Nanelle's bandaged head. "What does that look like to you?"

Dobby squeaked. "Dobby is very sorry! Dobby will throw himself off the roof in punishment! Dobby will drown himself—"

"You can't do both," Harry said. "You'll die at the end of either endeavour."

" _Harry!"_ Herman looked scandalised.

"I don't take kindly to hurt friends, Herman," Harry said evenly. "I don't have very many of them to spare."

Mollified, Herman turned away, unable to deal with such human emotions from the otherwise insane male leader of their pack of misfits.

"Oi," Ronnie said, "why don't we just get _him_ to take us to Hogwarts?"

"He's not a train, _Ronnie,"_ Herman said, levelling an unimpressed look at the girl.

"No, but he can _apparate_ us there, _Herman,"_ she said, flushing red.

Herman tutted. "Have you not read _Hogwarts: A History?_ "

"No, thank Morgana's ex-donkey!"

"Dobby," said Harry, " _Can_ you apparate us to Hogwarts?"

Dobby nodded reluctantly.

"What about Draco?"

Dobby froze in shocked horror, and then began flapping his bat ears as he shook his head vigorously in denial.

"I'll take that as a 'no' then," said Harry, already picking Tarquin's carrier up in one hand and letting Hedwig out with the other. "Time to fly girl. We'll be with you momentarily."

She hooted primly and departed.

Shortly thereafter, the children and their trunks followed.

* * *

"YOU APPARATED TO HOGWARTS!?" yelled Draco. "That's impossible! Have you _read_ _Hogwarts: A History?_ "

"No." Harry went back to waiting for his sandwich to appear on the currently empty plates. "Although that makes two out of five, so we're off to a good start."

"Apparently, House Elf magic can bypass wizard ward limitations," mused Herman, having ranted himself out in the last half hour while they waited in the Great Hall for the rest of the students to arrive by train. "I'll have to search through all the editions again to see if I've missed something. I can't _believe_ I've never come across them!"

McGonagall looked disapproving as she entered the Great Hall at no one in particular.

"Shh!" Ronnie whispered harshly, silencing Herman. "The Sorting's starting!"

Draco went back to his table quickly, while Herman and Nanelle turned back to their own table. It was lucky Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had their house tables next to each other, or their conversations would've been heard by the entire school.

The Sorting Hat opened its wide-brimmed mouth and began singing:

 _I may seem like an old hat  
And you're not entirely wrong.  
But if you think I'm useless  
Just listen to this song._

 _Oh I've sorted the most difficult  
And even those with nits.  
And though it might seem rather odd  
Only half of them were twits._

 _For you see it is my solemn duty  
To find a place for you.  
Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw  
Or Hufflepuff, if it's all the same to you._

 _For Gryffindor you've got to have  
The mind-set of a warrior.  
Not simply strong and bold and tough  
But also brave and cordial._

 _For Ravenclaw it must be said  
That it always comes back to the mind.  
Be it quick-witted or imaginative  
Or just answers you wish to find._

 _For Slytherin you ought to know  
they're the most cunning of the nest.  
If ambition and zeal guide your hands  
It's where you belong best._

 _For Hufflepuff on the other hand  
Hard-work and kindness are true.  
And for their loyalty to waver  
You must be ten times worse than a shrew._

 _Looking into your mind I'll place you  
Where you most fit in.  
It's my job, I do it well,  
Come on then; let's begin!_

* * *

"Weasley, Ginevra."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Her name's _Ginevra_?"

"Shut up _Draco_!"

"And you call _my_ name weird!"

"You're causing a scene!"

"Why do I even—why do I _associate_ myself with those two?"

"I-It's not so bad most of the time…"

"Wait till I tell Tommy about this."

"SHOVE OFF MALFOY!"

"Miss Weasley, sit _down!"_

No one knows who launched the first frittata, but by the time the food fight ended and even the enchanted ceiling had mashed potato smearing it, and Professor Dumbledore launched a turkey leg at Professor McGonagall's hat, suffice it to say, no one cared to remember.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff."

Except, of course, for Snape.

* * *

 _How was the Sorting Hat song? It took me a grand total of eight minutes to come up with the whole thing :)  
And yay! Voldemort's here! Or should I say - Thomais Marvolo Riddle? Teehee. Much banter in the future! Please review and let me know what you thought about this chapter? Pretty please?  
_


	5. Interlude - A Marauder Story

**The Marauder Story, as told through the eyes of Remula Lupin**

It all started with Jamie—every story starts with Jamie, if I'm being completely honest.

There she was, sitting alone in her compartment, when Liam Evans barged in, or so I've been told. He was crying, and Jamie called him out on his unmanly behaviour. He told her to mind her own business.

Enter Sirius Black, who took one look at Liam and promptly decided he hated his guts, or so I've been told.

Jamie and Sirius quickly bonded over their similar views on how society ought to be, what the houses truly stood for, their mutually accepted vanity, and puzzling over exactly what difference it would make to replace peanuts with walnuts in peanut butter. Thrilling conversation topics, I have been assured.

Liam left in this interval quite gladly, to the lack of response from either one of his fellow compartment occupants.

The train trundled along its tracks and, as is the case with such shenanigans, Jamie and Sirius became the best of friends through their mutual liking of making absolutely no sense, or doing anything remotely sensible.

They both got sorted into Gryffindor, along with Peter and me. It wasn't anything spectacular or grand in retrospect, but at the time, it was the most glorious moment of my short life.

* * *

I first came into contact with Jamie in the girl's dormitories, which we shared with Mary MacDonald and Marlene McKinnon, and I instantly knew she was the sort I ought to avoid—she glowed too brightly for a wallflower such as I.

But, as everything was with Jamie, I couldn't ignore her for very long.

I believe it was a week into November when Jamie resolved to speak with me about an assignment she had been putting off since the beginning of October, for which she had wheedled her way out of detention six separate times.

I immediately set out to inform her that I wouldn't be doing her homework for her, and she began sulking up a storm. She claimed that she wasn't out to make me her homework slave but rather, something more benign. I called her out on her contrived scheme, and she solemnly swore that she had a different agenda.

I hesitantly relented—it was the first time anyone had spoken to me for an extended length of time and I couldn't help but want to continue talking to this bright, bright sun, even though I knew all it would do was burden me with longing for an escape from my forced solitude.

Jamie, it was quite obvious, had had no alternative motives, and thus created one on the spot—she wanted to be friends with me.

I declined rather civilly, and went on my merry way, thinking that that was the end of that.

I was very wrong.

* * *

Peter started hanging around Jamie and Sirius sometime around the beginning of Christmas break, and it seemed as though he would become a permanent fixture, an eternal third wheel for the two most popular and witty people this side of the equator.

Apparently, he'd mistaken Jamie for a boy and Sirius had laughed so hard he'd burst his appendix, which had led to a rather panicked trip to the infirmary, or so I've been told. One thing led to another, and Jamie-and-Sirius became Jamie-and-Sirius-and-Peter.

I, on the other hand, was having a minor difficulty with sanitary towels, owing to the fact that my periods seemed to coincide with the full moon nearly every month. Madame Pomfrey was as understanding as she could be, but when I tried to snap someone's arm clean off for tapping me on the shoulder in Charms…

Needless to say, it was a very trying time for an eleven year old girl at the cusp of puberty. Jamie, similarly, began experiencing what Sirius liked to call 'swelling of the boing boings' and developing a rather alluring scent.

It was, as nature dictated, only poetic that the shining beacon of Hogwarts would skip the worst of growing up and instead receive a well-endowed chest, glowing skin and pheromones abound, while I got a severe case of acne, an oily scalp, itchy armpit hair and cardiac-arrest-variety cramps.

Then, one fine evening in February, our other two dorm mates caught up to us on the Puberty Journey, and we both had a mutual understanding of sorts—we wouldn't give them any support, because it was 'character building' to let them figure it out on their own.

Besides which, if we had to suffer, everyone else bloody well would to, or so Jamie said.

* * *

It was in March, when the exam season was creeping upon us and Jamie tried out for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team and secured a position as Chaser for herself for our second year, that Sirius Black and I had our first proper conversation.

Over the past few months, Jamie had tried all sorts of outlandish methods to make me her friend, and she hadn't petered out after a couple of weeks, as I'd previously assumed would be the case, though she seemed to be running out of ideas—her last attempt seemed rather desperate, with the singing piñata, animated cockroach clusters, two minute soliloquy about Dumbledore's beard, and something called a boogie fromage, although I'm not sure the last one was appropriately named.

Sirius made a paltry observation about the sunset. I pointed out that the sun was not, in fact, setting. He sighed and agreed, blaming his oversight on the fact that, when one is introspective, all time seemed to be twilight, and all clouds dark.

It was quite deep for him, to be perfectly honest.

At the time, I found this sentimental dirge quite fetching, and I must admit to having been intrigued rather a lot.

When Jamie found out about our conversation, although _how_ this happened is still a mystery to me, she was furious and mildly satisfied. She further charged me to find it within myself to call them shallow, and not good enough company for me, as I'd been doing for the last week, having run out of other things to say.

Some sputtering and stammering later, Peter shook my hand awkwardly, Sirius gave me a once over and told me to comb my hair if I wanted to be seen with him in public, and Jamie gave me the first hug I'd received from someone other than my parents since I was four years old.

* * *

That was our beginning, you see.

In many respects, it would have been lovely if that had been our end too—no jealousy, flirting, awkward kissing, sex, emo phases, marriage, war, murder, or Azkaban to mar the perfection that we'd once been.

Jamie the Jewel of Hogwarts; Sirius the Satirical Cynic; Peter the Proud Pansy; Remula the Responsible Rule-breaker.

And, then, we were four.

* * *

 _A little interlude till the muses favour me once more. Review please?_


	6. Homecoming

**The harder you climb,  
the farther you fall.  
But don't be ashamed  
of wanting it all.  
\- Pretend It's Home (Beth Crowley)**

* * *

Harry had nearly forgotten, but of course, he wouldn't be allowed to, that he had detention with Snape that very evening, owing to the fact that he'd dyed Snape's hair lilac during last year's end of year exams, and complemented him on it (though the former could never be proved, he'd made sure).

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Harry had woken up in his comfy duckling yellow comforter with the promise of a sunny day shining through the enchanted windows in his dorm room. Ernie was snoring on the bed next to him, Justin looked homesick, and Hugh had just come out of their shared toilet.

"Harry," he asked oddly. "Why is there a gnome glaring at me from your side table?"

Harry didn't even bother to glance at his side table, sticking a hand out and waiting for the gnome, who he'd christened Helga, to hand him his glasses.

"The real question is, why isn't _your_ gnome glaring at me?"

Harry thought he was being sagely. Hugh disagreed but was polite enough not to say anything.

By the time Harry decided to sit up in bed instead of subtly nudge Tarquin off his feet with little success, Ronnie had burst into their dorm and made Ernie fall off the bed in shock.

"Morning, fuckwits!" she greeted. "Harry, I _will_ eat all the bacon if you aren't ready in five."

Harry shrugged. "I'm thinking of going vegetarian, actually. Had a nasty dream about cows."

Ronnie looked murderous. "Fuck cows. _Meat_ , Harry! You aren't gonna go vegan on me like Herman, are you? I'll have to de-friend your face then."

Harry thought this was rather unfair, given that Herman wasn't even vegan.

"How does one go about de-friending a face? Would the rest of me still be your friend?" He helpfully illustrated with jazz hands.

Ronnie facepalmed. "Wanker."

Harry grinned.

* * *

Herman and Nanelle were waiting for them at the breakfast table, where Nanelle looked to be drowning her sorrow in copious amounts of milk, and Herman was diligently absorbing _Voyaging with Vampires_.

Harry picked up a parboiled egg and threw it at the book on principle. "Get that filthy trash away from my face," he said mildly when Herman nailed him with a ferocious glare.

"It's a _book_ , Harry! You can't _mutilate_ it!" he explained.

Ronnie slumped into the seat in front of him. "It's distracting you from bacon, so I think it can stand some mutilation."

Herman sputtered indignantly. "Just because _some_ of us don't appreciate good literature—"

Ronnie's blue eyes sparked angrily. "Oh, is _that_ what we're calling Pedohart's writing?"

Ronnie had jumped on the Gilderoy Lockhart hate train eagerly, hating reading as a rule and now having Harry on her side.

"What's wrong, Nanelle?" asked Harry, pouring himself a glass of juice and dumping a plateful of sausages onto the floor for Tarquin and Helga to devour. They would've squabbled over it, but Tarquin had quickly asserted his dominance and Helga had grumblingly accepted a fifth of the spoils.

"I…I've forgotten most of my potions supplies," she said morosely.

Harry tried to be sympathetic. "Won't your grandfather send you it?"

Nanelle looked about ready to cry, which Harry thought was rather too early, even for her.

"He told me I n-needed to be more responsible this year…so he's not sending me… _anything_ ," she said, and then began silently sniffling.

Draco chose this moment to make an appearance.

He sneered at them in disgust. "It is _far_ too early for your bickering, ginger. And Nanelle, the _least_ you can do is wait till lunch to have a meltdown."

Ronnie coloured even brighter red than she had been. "I didn't fucking _start_ , but I will in a minute you absolute—"

"Do you even have potions today?" asked Harry curiously.

Draco looked puzzled. "Why would it matter?"

Nanelle nodded, wiping her eyes hastily.

"She forgot her stuff and her grandfather's being difficult," said Harry glibly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "We don't even _have_ potions today, Nanelle. I'll write mum to send me my back-up. Why in Merlin's name would this be an even remotely valid excuse to—"

Ronnie stared at him, wide-eyed. "Did you just do something _nice_ , Malfoy?"

Draco didn't even miss a beat. "You're poor and your mum's fat."

" _Fuck you."_

It was good to be home.

* * *

The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had double Herbology first, but Gilderoy had "borrowed" Harry, much to Professor Sprout's irritation.

"Now, Harry, my boy," he began, teeth glowing. "I know we got off to a bit of a rocky start, but I think of you as something of a protégé—you're quite young in the fame business, but I think, with the right guidance, you could—where are you going?"

Harry hadn't even bothered being polite and waiting for him to talk himself out.

"To my class," said Harry, not even turning back.

Tarquin, who was lazing on the Greenhouse Three roof among the Venomous Tentacula tentacles, mewled.

* * *

Harry was being stalked, he'd realised after his abysmal potions lesson. Snape hadn't gotten any more pleasant over the holidays.

Not that Harry minded. His dourness made it doubly hilarious when Harry stole his left socks and left him threatening messages from the Sock Acquisitioning Goblin Society.

His invisibility cloak was a _godsend_.

He turned around and spotted a brunette first year excitedly following him with a camera.

"You're Harry Evans!" she squeaked. "I'm Colleen Creevey—I've heard all about you, can I take a photograph?"

Harry didn't see any harm so he picked up Tarquin and snuggled him, posing. Tarquin liked pictures. He was pretentious like that.

Colleen blushed furiously and began clicking away. "Could you sign it for me?"

Draco chose this moment to burst onto the scene. " _Signed photos?_ You're giving out _signed photos_ , Evans?"

He looked incredulous and vaguely on the verge of laughing.

Colleen turned to him indignantly. "You're just jealous!" she squeaked.

Harry sighed. "No, he's probably not. I doubt he'd appreciate living in a cupboard most of his childhood, or figuring out the exact limits of Dudley's algebra skills. Basic addition, by the way."

Draco stopped short, and Colleen didn't know whether to take it seriously or not.

"Who is _Dudley?"_

Ronnie chose this moment to come back from the bathroom. "Oh, like _you're_ one to talk, _Dracula_."

"My name's _Draco_ , ginger. Though I suppose it _is_ a bit hard for you to remember. Your memory retention isn't better than your pet goldfish's…oh _wait_."

Ronnie sneered and Draco jeered.

"I ship it," said Harry musingly.

They both turned to him with twin looks of horror.

Colleen looked confused. "There are ships at Hogwarts?"

* * *

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Lockhart gave them a quiz.

Harry took one look at the first question – _What's Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?_ – and promptly stood up, drew everybody's attention, tore the three page quiz viciously, and walked out of the classroom with flaring robes and a completely blank face.

Ronnie followed three beats later.

That was expected.

What _wasn't_ expected was the _rest_ of his classmates doing exactly the same thing.

"Of course they're following you," said Ronnie when he'd finally asked. "Who the _fuck_ cares what the exact shade of his _bloody_ hair is? I swear it's just throw-up yellow, but it's probably something posh like fucking _mustard_ or something equally as twatty."

Ernie sniffed disapprovingly at Ronnie. "You swear far too much, Weasley. It's really unbecoming of a girl."

Hugh Abbott grimaced. "I would never have had the guts to leave that class on my own…"

Susan Bones chimed in with, "Mum says Dumbledore's lost it if he's hired a pedophile."

Everyone had varying looks of disgust on their faces.

Harry felt smug.

* * *

 _I've single-handedly discredited a world-renowned author._

 _Well done_ , replied Tommy instantly. _How were classes today?_

 _They were alright. I yelled at a mandrake to shut up in herbology and it instantly did. Sprout nearly bowed. I think she might have rheumatism._

… _Harry, you shouldn't be_ able _to yell a mandrake into submission._

 _Oops?_

* * *

Snape set him the task of cleaning all the cauldrons.

Some things truly never changed.

"Sir, do you dirty these cauldrons on purpose just to spend more time with me?"

" _Detention,_ Evans."

It was _really_ good to be home.

* * *

 **I know, I know, I've disappeared for ages and then I come back with something less than stellar. In my defence, I was recovering from a surgery. I'm really sorry...But, how were the quintet? Review please? So I know people are still reading this?**


	7. Quinality

**You're surrounded,  
but you're still alone.  
So pick a place,  
and pretend it's home.  
\- Pretend It's Home (Beth Crowley)**

* * *

It was the middle of night when Harry's eyes snapped open, and he wasn't entirely sure why.

He remembered having a dream about Hedwig and Helga dancing the waltz with Ronnie's favourite Bradford Banshees song "If Looks Could Petrify" slamming in the background. That was _hardly_ odd enough to have woken him up.

He sat up and managed to retrieve his feet from beneath Tarquin's tiny curled up body, and pried his glasses out of Helga's death grip without waking the potato-gnome up. She'd taken it as her god-given duty to hand Harry his glasses ever since he'd won her basket's loyalty, and quite frankly, he thought it was adorable.

Ronnie hadn't agreed, but, as with everything deranged about Harry, she'd taken it in stride.

He absentmindedly grabbed a quill out of his slippers and took his diary out from under his bed, leafing through the pages even though they were utterly blank.

 _Are you okay, Tommy?_

He didn't know _why_ he thought it was Tommy that had woken him up, or why he even felt the need to talk to her, but Harry wasn't really one to question his own insanity. He had other people for that.

 _Of course, Harry. I'm a book. An impervious book._ _Did I mention I was a book?_

He could practically taste the sarcasm.

 _Are you having an existential crisis? And don't tell me you can't because you're a book. Books exist, so you can have a crisis about it just fine._

 _I'm fine, Harry._

 _Are you really fine, or is this a Nanelle kind of fine, in which she's really not but doesn't want to talk about it?_

 _I pity Nanelle._

 _You shouldn't. We're her friends. It's our job to lend an ear to everything she has to say. And for what she doesn't say, we have to tickle it out of her._

 _Do you mean actually tickle or is that a modern idiom? Or something you invented to serve as an idiom?_

 _Pretty sure I read it somewhere. Something about a trout?_

 _Catching a trout with tickling? It's a Shakespearean idiom that refers to the act of pleasing someone so as to dupe them. Maria used the idiom to refer to her plot to reveal Malvolio's self-loving nature in Twelfth Night or As You Like It._

 _Yeah! Wow, you're super smart, Tommy!_

 _My point, Harry, is that it has absolutely nothing to do with what you were talking about._

 _Well, sometimes you have to tickle and tease to get someone to talk, even if it might blow up in your face._

 _The school motto is_ literally _do_ _ **not**_ _tickle the belly of a sleeping dragon. Literally the motto._

 _Huh._

… _give me more ink._

Harry happily obliged, splashing the empty page with around half his ink bottle. Ginny had been a genius when she'd decided to make this diary impervious to _anything_.

He wondered if he could get the spell off her. See if he couldn't convert Hedwig's weatherworn cage into a comfy home for his favourite avian.

 _Tell me about yourself, Harry. It's only fair if you trust me before I trust you._

Harry shrugged. Sounded legit.

 _Well, my name is Harry Fleamont Evans, I have hazel eyes, I'm short, I'm twelve, I'm pretty sure we've done this…_

 _I meant something more personal. Bare your soul to me. Trust me with your secrets._

Harry pondered at the book and then thought deeply about himself, examining the very essence of his character, prying loose the darkest desires of his heart.

 _I secretly like the booger flavoured Bertie bean._

… _Of course you do._

* * *

Harry hadn't slept all night, so the next day when he was attacked by Kenyon's replacement for captain, Maxine O'Flaherty, the Hufflepuff beater and the only decent player on the team, he wasn't entirely with it.

"Hey, Harry, just the person I was looking for—can you spare a minute?" she asked, nerves looking ridiculously frazzled.

Harry nodded placidly. Ronnie raised an eyebrow and watched Maxine's subtle attempts to get her to leave with an unimpressed scowl.

"We have potions next," Ronnie reminded him.

"All the more reason to be late," Harry nodded reasonably.

Ronnie snorted.

"Look, Harry, I don't know who made me captain—"

"Sprout, _obviously_ ," replied Ronnie.

Maxine gave her a withering look. "What I'm _trying_ to say is, I've scheduled the tryouts for tomorrow. We need a replacement keeper and chaser. And since you run the show, I was wondering if you wanted to maybe pickthemoutyourselfbecauseIcan'tandyoutotallycouldwithyoureyesclosed?"

Harry blinked. "If I say yes, will you kick McManus off the team?"

Maxine turned green at the prospect. "But he's a friend…"

Harry shrugged unrepentantly. He was a completely different person when it came to quidditch.

"If he doesn't have talent, he shouldn't be on the team," he said. "But it's your call, captain."

Maxine looked like a withered flower, quite unlike the black and blue hurricane from the last match of last year.

"B-But you'll still lead the team, right?" she asked fearfully.

Harry's eyes blazed with competitive fire in a split second. "Not only will I lead the team, Maxine, I'll _crush_ the other teams. You can put horses on the team and I'll _still_ gut them till they _bleed_ victory."

Maxine stood straighter and became more determined. "Victory or death," she said solemnly.

Harry nodded sharply. "Victory or death."

Ronnie chose this moment to say, "Draco's seeker for Slytherin, by the way."

The grin that split Harry's face could give Voldemort nightmares.

Sitting in Defense and bored out of his mind, Draco suddenly felt a shiver trickle down his spine.

* * *

Colleen Creevey had found the perfect picture-taking position, balancing precariously on the roof of the owlery. Her spiky mousy hair was held back in a high ponytail and her camera was around her neck, ready to take a snap of the sprawling fields in front of her.

Suddenly, a ginger kitten sashayed its way over to Colleen and purred indignantly.

Colleen got the distinct impression she was invading the kitten's space.

She got off the roof.

* * *

Tarquin was looking rather pleased with himself, which Harry would've definitely commented on, except Tommy was being witty, and all of Harry's attention was fixated on her neat handwriting.

 _I hardly think the unhealthy fixation you have on strudels makes you even a tenth percent more German, considering the dish is Hungarian._

 _It's not a dish, Tommy, it's divinity._

 _It's flakes of wheat wrapped around some mushed berries. I hardly see the appeal._

 _You're forgetting the sugar._

 _Yes, how silly of me. The_ sugar.

Harry grinned at the dryness of the response, which broke his reverie and he noticed that all his friends had sat around him on the bean bags Professor Lupin had indulgently decorated in the part of her office which was _theirs_.

Ronnie had raced to the eye-sore orange one almost immediately, Draco had chosen the velvety green one on principle, Nanelle had been happy with the baby blue one with the tiny red phoenixes, Herman had claimed the stripy brown one, and Harry had squished onto the last one – the one that looked like the open mouth of a dragon. There was even a cloth tongue and everything.

"Oh, he finally joins us," said Draco haughtily. "We've only been planning a visit to Grimmy, don't concern yourself. And by _we_ , I mean me, since you lot are useless."

Nanelle was too busy reading a letter from her grandfather.

Herman and Ronnie were bickering about recklessness.

"I have equal right to be as fucking reckless as I want to be!" argued Ronnie.

Herman was already red in the face. "This has absolutely nothing to do with you being a girl, Ronnie—"

"Yes, it does! You haven't said a bloody thing to Harry _or_ Draco, so I don't see why—"

Harry scrawled a quick _talk to you later_ to Tommy and shut his diary. "What are you two fighting about?"

Draco scoffed. "What _aren't_ they fighting about?"

Ronnie gave him an obligatory glare before nervously biting her lip, which was completely uncharacteristic of her.

Harry looked supremely concerned. "Is everything okay? Do I need to threaten Ernie with sandcastles again?"

Ronnie nodded. "Yeah, totally fine. Haha…you know, just riling Herman up, as you do, nothing to see here, yup—"

Herman couldn't contain himself any longer. "Ronnie's decided to try out for your quidditch team!" he said accusingly.

Harry considered Ronnie with narrow-eyed scrutiny. The temperature went down a couple of degrees. Herman had no idea _how_ Ronnie could still maintain eye contact with Harry.

"You're better than Fleet," he said finally, before smiling lightly and dispelling the tension. "Victory or death," he chirped cheerfully.

Herman goggled. Nanelle looked up from her letter in horror. Draco gauged the competition.

Ronnie nodded determinedly. "Victory or death."

"I feel like I should say something…" muttered Remula, who'd just entered her office, but then elected to ignore them completely. " _Nah_."

The Potter lunacy was contagious.

* * *

Grimmy raced to them from Hagrid's hut, barking happily and bowling Harry over.

Harry grinned from underneath the mass of black fur. "Missed you too, Grimmy."

Herman tutted. " _So_ unhygienic…"

Draco scratched Grimmy behind the ears as Ronnie swooped in for a bear hug. "We would've been here sooner," he said, before sarcastically muttering, "but _someone's_ too invested in their diary."

Harry stuck his tongue out at him. Draco stuck his tongue out right back.

Nanelle giggled at the boys. "H-Hello Hagrid," she greeted the half-giant, who was walking towards them with a ginger in tow. "Hi, Ginny."

Ginny blushed at the sight of Harry and mumbled back a greeting.

"What're you bothering Hagrid for?" asked Ronnie curiously.

Ginny gave her a look. "I was just exploring."

Ronnie snorted. "Yeah, exploring _Harry_ , maybe—"

Harry went up to Ginny and hugged her.

Draco sneered at the display. Herman was wide-eyed in shock.

Ginny looked about ready to faint.

"Thank you for Tommy," he said, feeling he ought to explain the hug, even though there was no law stating he had to.

He was ever so considerate.

"T-Tommy?" Ginny squeaked, face a brighter red than her hair.

Harry nodded happily. "The birthday present."

"O-Oh, _oh_ ," said Ginny, realisation dawning. She then promptly blushed even brighter. "Y-You're we-wel-welc—don't mention it…"

Ronnie cut through Ginny's dilemma with, "Could've just said thank you, Harry. Now she'll overthink this till her brain melts."

Ginny gave Ronnie another look. It reminded Harry of Mrs Weasley, strangely enough. "I'm not the one who can't get by without butting into everyone's conversation every two seconds," she snapped. Then she saw Harry out of the corner of her eye and deflated.

She mumbled an excuse and scampered off. Harry wondered what dancing sphinxes had to do with astronomy homework, but then, he'd never really paid attention in that class, so it was entirely possible Ginny's excuse was completely valid.

Grimmy was totally grinning at Harry.

"Astronomy is like artichoke," he pronounced solemnly.

Yes, he was very wise.

No, Draco, he wasn't high. Yes, Herman, he _had_ eaten breakfast this morning.

...hadn't he?

* * *

 **You guys are actually just really sweet! Yeah, I'm doing fine now, thanks for asking! And yay another chapter! How's Harry's quidditch-personality? Quinality? Ooh, yes, quinality! And Tommy! How's Tommy? Is he...in character? Is that the right way of saying this, considering I invented him?**

 **He's having difficulty getting Harry to bare his soul. It might be because Harry _has_ no soul! *gasp* O.O**

 **Nah, just kidding! Review please?**


	8. Tryouts and Deathday Parties

**Because I've always been a dreamer  
** **Had my head up in the sky  
** **Just a fool-hearted believer  
** **Living with no ties.  
\- If I'm Going Nowhere (Cody Bryan)**

 **Note: Tis a longer chapter, but yay for character development? Hope you like what I'm doing with Tommy!**

* * *

 _No._

 _Please?_

 _No._

 _Tommy, please?_

 _For the last time, Harry, I'm not discussing my past._

 _So you actually were a transvestite pretending to be a dinosaur in the 1832 Goblin Rebellion?_

 _ **No.**_

 _You know, for a talk-back diary, you're not actually doing all that much talking._

 _Nothing you say is meaningful either. Ever. Trust me, I would know._

 _Meaningful? Everything I say means something to me. I hardly think it needs to mean something to someone else for it to mean something to me._

 _We had a thirty-minute argument about_ asparagus _._

 _And a glorious thirty minutes it was._

… _tell me your darkest fear. The thing that keeps you up at night._

 _Nothing keeps me up at night. In fact, nothing wakes me up, either, except that one time Tarquin nearly scratched my nose off. That was funny._

 _Then why do you write in me in the middle of the night?_

 _I don't know. I guess I thought you were lonely. Like the spiders in my cupboard. Poor itty bitty critters didn't really have much going for them. Aunt Petunia smushed a couple of the littler ones. We held a funeral in the backyard, but I think Dudley stepped on the gravesite._

 _Are you sure you're not projecting?_

 _I could be, but that doesn't mean you aren't. And the spiders definitely were. Hey, do you think Dudley's actions could be considered sacrilegious? Could I get him ex-communicated?_

 _Does loneliness scare you, Harry?_

 _Not really. It makes me sad though. Especially now that I know what it's like not to be lonely. Are you avoiding my other questions?_

 _What if someone stripped your friends from you? What if they decide you're not worth the effort?_

 _I'll kill anyone that tries. But seriously though, this is important. Could I get Dudley ex-communicated?_

 _And the second question?_

 _I've seen Ronnie's beheaded dolls collection. We can't_ not _be friends anymore. And Draco's too invested in my astronomy grades to bail on me now. Herman loves being exasperated by me, and Nanelle likes me enough to ignore my odd fascination for nail polish._

… _you have a fascination for nail polish._

 _Yup. Ooh, does that count as a secret?_

 _Maybe. Also, I hardly think ex-communicating that filthy muggle will fix what he's done to you._

 _Harry Hunting wasn't that bad. It was actually pretty fun, especially when Polkiss got his leg broken on a tricycle. Gotta love cats._

 _I worry for your sanity._

 _Does this mean we're best friends now? Can I add you to my yuletide shopping list?_

…

 _Tommy?_

* * *

Ronnie was nervous.

She was painfully gripping the school broom with her white-knuckled hands, her face was pale, and her blue eyes were blown wide with fear.

Nanelle had kindly braided her bangs away from her face and was now standing next to her with barely hidden concern.

"You'll do great, Ronnie," she said optimistically, trying to get the otherwise confident girl to regain some colour. At this rate, she would be a zombie by the time it was her turn to try out.

Ronnie nodded jerkily, trying to get her breathing back to normal.

She hated feeling nervous. It was the single worst thing ever, and she'd promised herself after coming to Hogwarts that she'd never let her feelings of inferiority affect _anything_.

Herman didn't help, what with his constant _nagging_ , but she thought she was pretty good at showing she wasn't affected. Harry, of course, could always tell, but he was insane like that so he didn't count.

Harry was standing with the current Hufflepuff team and was scrutinizing everyone on the pitch like a tiger waiting for the deer to sprint so he could start chasing.

It strangely made Ronnie less nervous.

Harry was ruthless about anything to do with quidditch, so if she wasn't good enough to try out, he would've told her.

"Everyone, off the ground and three laps around the field!" yelled Harry.

A beefy fifth year scoffed. "Why's Evans calling the shots?"

Ronnie gave him a sneer instantly. "You wanna go up and ask him to his face, fucktard?"

Nanelle winced, and Ronnie felt nominally apologetic about that.

The fifth year gave her a once over and dismissed her as a non-threat. "You're the Weasley, right? Why're you even trying out? Won't it be a conflict of family interests?"

Ronnie coloured an unfetching shade of plum and bared her teeth. "What're you trying out for? Hooch need a replacement bludger?"

He rolled his eyes at her. "I'm trying out for beater, princess."

Ronnie was two breaths away from clawing his face out with her blunt nails, but Nanelle whimpered.

Just in time for O'Flaherty to blow her whistle. Everyone got on their broomsticks. Ronnie's insides were officially jelly.

 _I can do this,_ she mentally revved herself up. _I can do this, I can do this, I've flown before, I'm not gonna mess up, I can_ do _this…_

She didn't know how she got through those laps without falling off her broom, but manage she did.

Herman had finally finished his assignment and joined Nanelle at the stands. Ronnie made fleeting eye contact, and suddenly, she got angry.

That anger cleared her mind like no other. She didn't question where this anger came from, only that she'd be _damned_ if she gave Herman John Granger _any_ more ammunition against her.

Harry gave them all a flat, cold look. The two fourth year boys behind her flinched hard. Tracy Donovan from sixth year looked paralysed in fear.

"Beaters," he said, and even though he wasn't yelling, everyone could hear him clearly. "To the left. O'Flaherty, make them wish they'd never been born."

O'Flaherty saluted, and Ronnie would've laughed at the absolute control Harry had over a seventh year, but she thought it would be a bit inappropriate.

She was only pretending to be confident, after all.

"The rest of you," he said, turning his attention to the six people around Ronnie, "will _wish_ you were trying out for beater."

The next _two hours_ were spent saving goals from the combined force of Harry and all three chasers of the team, but really it was mostly Harry. Maybe Spruce managed one goal, but that wasn't saying much.

There were three goal posts. There were seven candidates. Harry didn't think this should be a problem.

With seven keepers defending three posts, Ronnie figured no quaffles would actually get in.

She should know by now that anything to do with Harry defied logic.

Intermittently, he'd yelled four people off the field, and it was a sorry day indeed for Hufflepuff when two burly fifth years left in tears because a second year midget yelled them into submission.

Ronnie didn't have time to _think_ about anything, and by the time O'Flaherty blew the whistle, it was only her, a fourth year who looked ready to piss himself, and a seventh year with silver hair that had made it.

"I think Weasley?" suggested O'Flaherty the minute they all touched down.

Harry nodded solemnly. "You're excused, Kiddington."

The panicking fourth year gasped in gratitude, running away and bashing his head headfirst into the shower stall.

"She saved more goals than you, Derek, I'm sorry," said O'Flaherty apologetically.

Derek shrugged good-naturedly. "Just figured I'd try out is all. Now that you're captain and that."

O'Flaherty blushed.

Ronnie didn't get it.

When Derek walked off the field, high-fiving one of the chasers, O'Flaherty clapped her hands together. "All right, everybody, these are our two new teammates. Ronnie Weasley for keeper and Benjamin Buckles for beater. Say hi everyone!"

Everyone chorused a hi.

Ronnie turned to look at the new beater.

It was the fucking wanker.

 _Great_.

Soured the entire experience of her making the team.

Although Herman and Nanelle proudly cheering from the stands kinda, sorta, _maybe_ made up for it.

But she wouldn't be caught dead telling them that.

* * *

Harry was writing in his diary instead of doing his charms essay in dungeon five – it was the first empty classroom he could find on such short notice that felt sufficiently damp – when a bunch of Ravenclaw third years walked in, carrying a large bucket full of frog brains.

One of them was panicking. "But what if it explodes?"

"Yeah, but imagine if it _doesn't_." That was the tall one.

The one wearing glasses said, "Optimism, Peggy, _optimism_. If we can somehow—"

"There's no way on Gaia's skin that we can manage that—"

"Merlin, Peggy, you're such a freak—"

"What if we die—"

"It's just frog brains, _relax_ —"

"But it's _frog brains_ , Philip—"

They were so busy bickering that the bucket exploded.

Harry got the distinct feeling that was not their intention. Also, frog brains shouldn't be sticking to the ceiling.

When Filch screamed like a girl from a horror movie and dragged him off to his office for "befouling the castle", he was fairly certain he was right about that sentiment.

Somehow though, his mere existence got a ghost to smash a cupboard that occasionally liked vanishing in front of Filch's office as a distraction, and so he accepted an invitation to a deathday party.

Whatever _that_ was.

Yes, the chronology and explication was perfectly sound.

On the brighter side, he'd finished his charms essay.

* * *

Harry was sulkily scribbling in his diary. Herman knew this because he was mashing his scrambled eggs with his inkpot.

"Why is Harry sulking?" whispered Herman, picking up a slice of toast and spreading some marmalade on it.

Ronnie shrugged, swallowing her sausage and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "He's in a fight with his diary."

Herman scrunched up his eyebrows. "How can you have a fight with an inanimate object?"

Ronnie gave him a flat look. "Because it's _not_ inanimate? Magic, Herman."

Herman did his best not to retort. He'd written to his mother and she'd advised him to count to ten and cool his head instead of falling into another bickering session with someone who ought to be his friend.

Ronnie didn't make it easy though.

"Isn't that supposed to be dangerous?" he said instead, pouring out some orange juice for himself.

Ronnie shrugged again, stuffing another sausage into her mouth. Herman bit back his admonishment. It wouldn't do any good anyway. Ronnie ate like a savage.

Everything Herman knew about girls was being challenged by the ginger in front of him.

"Since when has Harry done anything sane?" she said after swallowing. "He went after a troll last year for bants. And he punched a house elf in the schnoz. _And,_ " she listed off, taking a gulp of apple juice before wiping her mouth again. "he's accepted an invitation to a deathday party. Who _does_ that?"

Herman blinked. "What on earth is a deathday party?"

"It's like the opposite of a birthday for ghosts. They like celebrating the day they died. Charlie reckons it's 'cause that's all they remember from their lives, or something."

Herman frowned. "That can't be right. Professor Binns certainly remembers enough about the Goblin Rebellions for his memory to be so limited."

Ronnie shrugged again. Herman wanted to punch her but that would be very ungentlemanly, and unlike her, _he_ had been raised with manners.

"Read a fucking stack of books on it, then. All I know is, the Fat Friar doesn't have a single better thing to talk about than the lynch mob that got him hanged."

Herman gasped, horrified. "The Fat Friar was _hanged_?"

Ronnie nodded. "He's from the sixteen hundreds though, so that's kind of a given. Poor bastard didn't stand a chance. Half our kind died then. 'Least until Wendolin got that ice rune to work for everybody."

Herman frowned, feeling lost. It was, unfortunately, a fairly common experience when talking to Ronnie. She just _knew_ things that Herman hadn't even _considered_.

Not for the first time, Herman felt bitter that he hadn't grown up in a wizarding family.

"Ice rune? Runic magic is very advanced."

"Yeah, but the ice one is pretty basic. Bill uses it for stupid things like preserving Aunt Muriel's broken gobstones set or setting mum's hair after she's been to Philomela's. And Fred and George've been using it since first year for their fireworks or some shit."

Herman resolved to research ice runes in the library first chance he got. " _Language_ ," he said on principle.

Ronnie gave him a heated frown. "Fuck you."

Draco let out a relieved breath, and it was only then that Herman noticed he'd been sitting there eating scrambled eggs nearly the whole conversation. Without speaking.

Herman wondered what was wrong. He also knew there was no point asking because Draco wouldn't answer.

"For a second there, I thought you two would _actually_ manage an entire conversation without bickering," he said. "But hell has yet to freeze over."

Ronnie flipped him off absentmindedly, and not for the first time, Herman felt a sting of irritation at that. By all rights, Ronnie and Draco should be fighting all the time, but they actually got along surprisingly well. So why was _he_ the one Ronnie had the most issue with?

Harry chose this moment to stop flattening his eggs across his plate.

"Are we really friends?" he asked.

Herman paused at the oddness of the question, trying to get his bearings. Ronnie, however, didn't need any help with that. "Duh. I've seen your pants, mate. We can't _not_ be friends after that."

Draco and Herman shared a look of exasperated resignation. "That's disgusting," drawled Draco. "And the fact that I'm sitting on the Hufflepuff table for breakfast with idiots like _Finch-Fletchley_ gawking at me because of you ought to be answer enough."

Herman patted Harry's shoulder. "Of course we're friends, Harry. Really."

"What brought this on, anyway?" asked Ronnie, not sounding curious at all.

Harry contemplated them before nodding to himself decisively. "My diary and I are having a war over which one is better, chocolate fudge or treacle tarts. And since you're my best friends, you have to back me up."

Draco immediately rebutted. "Chocolate fudge is _obviously_ better than treacle tarts, and the fact your _diary_ knows better than you—"

Herman watched Harry smile blandly at Draco's angry rant about chocolate fudge, and noticed, for the first time, that he had dark circles under his eyes.

He made eye contact with Ronnie and then looked at Harry meaningfully.

Ronnie nodded. "Wanna go visit Grimmy tonight?" she asked.

Herman pursed his lips in disapproval at the unnecessary rule breaking, but when Harry perked up, he couldn't bring himself to yell at Ronnie for it.

The things he put up with for his friends…

* * *

"We could be at the Halloween feast," complained Draco. "But no, we're going to Nearly-Headless Nick's deathday party."

Harry didn't see why he was complaining when it had given him an excuse to wear his much-lauded dress robes. Personally, Harry thought the silver was a bit overkill, but Draco was liable to bite someone's head off with a rant about wizarding fashion if he commented on it.

On a good day, he would've done it for banter, but he was feeling more sleep deprived than was entirely normal, so he said nothing.

"I-It's a bit dark down here," murmured Nanelle nervously. She still had the burns from potions class on her cheek, and even Madame Pomfrey's best burn salve was taking time to take effect.

"It's the _bloody_ dungeons," said Ronnie, the _duh_ being implicit.

"There's nothing wrong with dungeons," said Draco defensively.

Harry nodded sagely. "Some of the best kidneys were sold in dungeons."

Herman looked at him weirdly. Harry felt accomplished. Now if only he could figure out how he'd woken up in a girl's bathroom this morning…

Ah well, it was probably nothing.

"So glad you could come, Harry," said Nearly-Headless Nick mournfully.

What Harry wanted to say was, thank you for having me. What came out was, "Is that a dead jobberknoll?"

Nearly-Headless Nick looked mournfully pleased. "Yes, so wonderful you noticed. Only the best for my 500th."

Herman was too busy salivating over the culture to share a weirded out look with him.

Nanelle was wincing at the chainsaws the band was scratching against a bed of nails for her to really appreciate the food.

Ronnie was morbidly fascinated. "The fuck is he doing?"

A ghost was gravely passing through the rotten-food-laden table, followed by what looked like its dead pet owl.

"I think he's _eating,"_ said Herman in disgusted awe.

"Remind me not to become a ghost," said Ronnie, eyeing a particularly mouldy wheel of camembert.

Draco was showing off his silver robes to a very interested ghost of a 13th century seamstress who looked to have been killed because she'd swallowed a pair of tweezers.

Harry wasn't paying attention because he'd taken his diary out.

 _There's a jobberknoll at Nicky's deathday party. I think I want one. Living one though. If I wanted a dead one, I'd get one for Ronnie. All her pets die. One of them got eaten by a purple sock._

Tommy was giving him the silent treatment today, it seemed. Harry would ask what he'd done wrong, except he was pretty sure Tommy would say something about souls and secrets, neither of which Harry had much of.

One soul, no secrets.

Hmmm…maybe that should be the title of his autobiography?

Nanelle clutched the back of his robe in a bout of startled self-consciousness when the Headless Hunt burst onto the scene.

"C-Can we go now?" she asked, teeth chattering.

Harry supposed it _was_ rather cold.

He smiled at her reassuringly. "After I find an exorcist," he said calmly. "I think Tommy might be trapped."

Nanelle looked concerned, despite not knowing anything about Tommy. "Of course," she replied determinedly. "Do you want to split up and search?"

She was terrified out of her mind.

Harry had amazing best friends.

Draco was now arguing with the head of the Headless Hunt. Something about two inches of skin and a detachable head.

Harry wondered about his sanity.

* * *

 **Sooooo…I'm hoping this was as humorous? Ronnie's and Herman's scenes were obviously not as whacky as Harry's, but I hope you still found it entertaining! Review and let me know, please?**


End file.
